Misadventures in Babysitting
by faerietaleredux
Summary: A JONAS story. Mr. and Mrs. Lucas decide Frankie is spending too much time on his own. When finding a sitter proves difficult, Macy comes to the rescue.
1. Frankie

**Misadventures in Babysitting**

_For suburbs, who's going to see Mary Poppins on Broadway tomorrow. Hopefully she'll love it as much as I did. I wish this first chapter weren't so... blah. Still, I guess it's better than writing nothing at all._

"a piecrust promise--easily made, easily broken"

-- Mary Poppins

Most parents with three teen-age sons would never need to hire a babysitter. Older brothers are automatically signed up for the job. I'm serious. It doesn't matter if the aforementioned older child spent weeks saving for the big game or if he finally asked that hot cheerleader to the movies, someone's got to watch the baby bro. And that someone is him.

But when those three teen-age boys are members of JONAS, tween rock sensation, things change a bit. Photo shoots and sound checks are essentially a get-out-of-jail free card and the babysitting is, alas, left to someone else.

It's not to say that the Lucas brothers aren't close to their little brother. They only forgot they were playing hide-and-seek with him that one time (alright, that's a lie; they've forgotten more times than you can list, but who's counting, really?). Sure, there was that day Joe left for school and locked up the house, with Frankie still inside. But Big Rob came by soon enough to let him out. True, Kevin still hasn't come to one of Frankie's little league games, but he will… eventually. Frankie doesn't like to remind him because Kevin's face gets all pink and wrinkly and you can tell he feels really bad. Poor guy. And, sure, Nick hasn't made good on his promise to help with homework. But Frankie understands. His brothers are busy. And he's cool with that.

Besides, Frankie likes being independent. It's easier that way.

You can see why when Frankie's parents decide he needs a nanny, someone who'll make sure he's cared for when everyone else forgets, it doesn't go over very well. Let's look in, shall we?

"Mom, you can't be serious!"

"I'm very serious, Frankie."

"Nannies are for babies. Babysitters are for babies—that's why the '_baby'_ part's at the beginning of the word. I guess you didn't notice, but I'm not a baby."

"Don't talk to your mother like that, Frankie." His dad eyed him carefully while pouring more coffee into an over-sized mug. "We made this decision together and it's the right one. You shouldn't be alone as much as you are."

Frankie crossed his arms over his chest. "The other boys never had a sitter."

"That was different. Your mom didn't work back then, and they had each other. If you get stuck in a drain pipe there won't be anyone here to call the plumber to get you out."

Kevin walked into the kitchen and grabbed the Corn Pops from the counter. "Are we telling embarrassing Joe stories again? Did I miss the one with the cat and the bazooka? That just never gets old."

.

"choosing a nanny for children is an important and delicate task. it requires insight, balanced judgment, and an ability to read character."

--Mr. Banks (full-time businessman, part-time father)

Frankie felt the urge to pound his head into the table, but he refrained. Despite great protest, his mom made him tag along as she interviewed potential sitters. They sat at tables outside of Starbucks, since it was considered a 'neutral location.' See, if word got out that the family behind JONAS needed domestic help, there'd be no controlling the crazy clothes-shredding fans from coming out of the woodwork.

Big Rob sat nearby, using his laptop (and a special hack into the FBI's criminal database) to run background checks on the candidates. He signaled Mrs. Lucas when anything fishy came up. Like the old, chubby-cheeked woman who turned out to be a recovering crack addict. And that creepy Mickey Rourke lookalike who had a DUI last month.

"So, what do you think so far?"

Frankie looked up at his mom. "They're all nut-jobs."

She sighed. "I'm sure they're nice once you get to know them. Or at least some of them are." That last one had scared her a bit. What was with the Hitler mustache? She hoped to never know.

Frankie didn't say anything, but slurped up what was left of his organic chocolate milk.

Mrs. Lucas frowned and Frankie could see lines forming around her jaw. "Somehow I envisioned this process going a little more smoothly. A little more "spoonful of sugar," you know?"

Frankie thought she wanted him to pass the sugar packets, but when he did she just laughed.

"That's not what I meant, son. Don't you remember Mary Poppins?"

"Uh—the movie? A little." What was she getting at?

"I was hoping we'd find someone like that. Someone you could have fun with. Someone who'd help you out of this 'independent' phase that's making you grow up too fast."

Frankie didn't say anything. Clearly his mom was crazy. At least now he knew where Kevin got all his optimistic delusions from. "I tell you what, mom," he said finally. "If Mary Poppins shows up for an interview you won't hear a peep of complaint from me."

.

"it's her. it's the person. she's answered our advertisement.

rosy cheeks and everything."

--Jane and Michael Banks

Twenty minutes later, Frankie was playing on the jungle gym. Alright, he was watching other kids play on the jungle gym. Same thing.

Mrs. Lucas sent him to the park across the street to "have a little fun" while she dealt with the rest of the nightmare nannies. If he squinted he could see her sipping coffee with Big Rob typing a few tables away.

Frankie kicked sand up with his shoe, watching as gravity brought the yellow granules back to the ground. He was trying to decide if the sand was more of a beige or a yellow when the sun shone behind him and cast a shadow: the perfectly defined silhouette of a girl with a strange hat.

Frankie looked up.

"Hi."

He stared at her but didn't say anything. She was older than him. Probably his brother's age. She looked like she'd been running--her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes twinkled a little. If he were older he might think she was pretty.

"You know the park isn't much fun if all you do is stare into space."

She sat down beside him, leaning her things against the log.

He hadn't planned on replying to her less-than-subtle attempt at conversation but he noticed something that made him do a double take.

"Where'd you get that?"

"This?" she asked, lifting up her umbrella. "My mom owns a second-hand store. I found it in the donation box and kept it. You never know when it'll rain."

She smiled at him but all he could do was frown. If there was one thing he remembered about Mary Poppins it was her parrot-handled umbrella that talked when no one else was looking.

"Does it talk to you?" It was a stupid question, he knew. But it came out before he could help it.

She just laughed. "Where'd you get a silly idea like that?" But then she winked at him (winked!) and let him rub his finger over its beak. It seriously looked just like the one from the movie.

"Do you come here a lot" he asked, surveying the grass ahead of them.

"To the park? Sometimes. I play football here on Tuesdays and softball every other Saturday."

"You play sports?"

"Oh definitely. All kinds."

"Ever been to a little league game?"

"Only every year of my life. I played when I was your age. Sometimes I go to make sure the next gen is keeping in line." And there she was winking at him again! He almost suggested she have a doctor check out her eye problem but he didn't. He was starting to like her. A little bit anyway.

"I'm Frankie," he said, extending a hand.

She put her own hand out and shook it. "Pleasure to meet you, Frankie. I'm Macy."

"Like Mary with a c?"

"Uh-- I guess."

Frankie smiled. He was a very grown-up eight year-old. But even the wisest eight year-old has a hard time believing in coincidences. Or maybe he just inherited more of his mother's optimistic delusions than he'd like to admit.

"Mary, I'm going to need you to come meet my mom. You haven't had any recent issues with the FBI, have you?"

(hopefully, to be continued)


	2. Kevin

suburbs_ is leaving for an extended break in a matter of_ days_ and I've been desperate to give her a bon-voyage present before then. The product is this rushed nonsense. Kendra, you should know, that I can't write Kevin well to save my life. But I'm trying anyway because I know he's your favorite._

_

* * *

  
_

**Part II **

"the children, madam, to be precise, are not here."

--Katie Nanna

Kevin came home from the first leg of their JONAS summer tour wondering why his bathroom smelled like honeysuckle. It was all steamy and damp, like someone had just taken a shower. But instead of the normal soap and Speedstick scent, it was as though he'd walked into an invisible bakery filled with vanilla blossoms and honey cakes. _Did mom buy Frankie a new shampoo or something?_

He knocked on his brother's door, the one connected to the bathroom they shared, and went in. But no one was there. _Huh, strange. _The first hug when Kevin got back from anywhere always went to Frankie. It was their thing.

He walked downstairs to the kitchen, feeling too tired to slide down the fire pole.

"Mom, where's Frankie?"

Mrs. Lucas had her back turned, putting away left-over groceries from the tour bus. "He's with the 'sitter," she said, closing the refrigerator door. "They waited for you guys, but had to leave. One of Frankie's games, I think."

"Doh!" Kevin smacked his hand to his forehead. "I'm such an idiot. I was gonna try and make it to this one." The truth was he'd forgotten all about it. He was always forgetting. _What kind of brother was he?_

"Was Frankie really disappointed?" he asked, dejected.

Mrs. Lucas' eyes softened. "He's fine--excited about some new move he learned. Thinks they might actually win for once."

"That'd be nice," Kevin smiled. It wasn't likely though. Their team was pretty bad. But winning didn't matter really, as long as the kids had fun, right?

.

"why do you always complicate things that are really quite simple?"

-–Mary Poppins

"Oh, by the way," Mrs. Lucas scrunched her nose. "Your father was trying to be helpful. He left this note."

Kein looked at it—

_Did your laundry. It's in the dryer. :)_

_Love you, _

_Dad_

"Oh no."

Kevin raced to the laundry room, pulling open the dryer door. Sure enough--his favorite dancing panda shirt was now a blotched blue-and-white tie-dye. As were his socks, Freddy Fender vest and four (formerly) tighty-whities. He shook his head. Dad was as bad as Joe. Some people just shouldn't be allowed to touch a washer-machine.

He rummaged through the pile of clothes—_at least they smelled nice_—looking for the offending item. "Ha! Gotcha," he said, pulling out something small and purple—

And then DROPPED IT quickly as he realized what it was.

Kevin paused, a little shell-shocked, looking around the empty laundry room to check for hidden spies before kneeling to look at _it _again. Gently, cautiously, he picked it up between his thumb and fore-finger.

Yup. Definitely underwear. Purple, lacy_, girl underwear_.

He took a breath.

_Could it be mom's?_ He shuddered. _Please no_.

On closer inspection, it clearly wasn't. Too small. _Whew. _But wait--_Oh dear._ If it wasn't mom's, whose was it?

Kevin's first thought was Joe. Conspiracy theories of secret girlfriends and midnight trysts ran through his brain, making him blush. But he stopped that train of thought soon enough. It couldn't be Joe, or Nick for that matter. They'd been gone for weeks.

Clearly, he was freaking out for no reason. Maybe Stella had changed here once and left them by accident. Yeah, that must be it. He better not tell Joe; he'd tease her like there was no tomorrow. And then she'd feel obligated to retaliate in some creative, but evil way. Kevin didn't want the bloodshed on his hands.

Then he saw the little white brand tag in the back with a heart and an 'M' written on it in permanent marker. So it wasn't Stella's. Or anyone else's that he could think of.

Kevin felt real, genuine panic stinging in his chest. His dad left the tour a couple days early to take care of stuff at home. He swallowed. Was this just like those politicians on TV? You think they're nice guys –helping kids in Africa and rescuing dogs, but really they've been fooling around with an Argentinean mistress since you turned twelve. _Oh, dad. How could you?_

He took a breath. This was out of his league. He scooped the clothes in his arms and stormed upstairs, pushing the door to his brother's room open without knocking and chucking the laundry on Joe's bed. His brothers stared at him, confused.

"I think dad's having an affair!"

Nick and Joe froze. "WHAT?!"

He struggled to catch his breath, cheeks flushed red. "Look what I found."

He showed them the evidence.

"Yowza." Joe was the first to grab for it, twirling the purple lace around his index finger. "Definitely a hottie."

"Joe, shut up."

"I'm serious, Nick. Whoever wears these has to be smoking hot. Trust me on this."

"Alright—but it doesn't mean dad—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Of course not, that's crazy. Dad would never do that."

Kevin spoke up again, calmer now that the three of them could deal with this together. "But that's what he wants you to think. I bet he's never actually been to Africa. And who knows if he even likes dogs. Remember how he wouldn't let us get a puppy?"

Joe and Nick looked at each other. And then back to Kevin. "Bro, none of what you just said makes any sense."

Kevin ran both hands through his hair. "I know. I'm just freaking out. Sorry."

"It's alright." Joe put a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "I'd freak out too if I thought that--- But there's no way."

Nick was inspecting the underwear now. It felt kind of like one of those hands-on museum exhibits.

Kevin took a long, calm breath. "Thanks guys, I feel better now. I was just worried. I mean process of elimination, it couldn't be Stella's because of that M—"

Joe's eyes went wide. "Whoa there--Stella's?"

He went on, "Or mom's"

"GAH!" Both boys shielded their eyes in pain. "Mental image, AHHH!!!"

Kevin ignored them. "So whose are they?"

Nick threw the panties at Joe. "Good question."

Joe threw them back, hard.

Kevin interceded, picking them up with one hand, when Frankie came in.

"Ew. What are you doing with Mary's underwear?"

The three boys stared at him.

"Who?"

"Mary. My nanny."

Um.

"Nothing!" Kevin said very quickly. "Just folding clothes in here. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. Haha."

Frankie blinked a few times. "Okaaaay."

Kevin stood up, enveloping him in a bear-hug. Nick and Joe came from behind and made it a Frankie sandwich.

Frankie laughed, pushing them away. "I get it, I get it! You missed me."

"Of course we did, little bro."

Kevin steered Frankie out of the room, motioning Nick to get rid of the garment that had so interested them earlier. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain that kind of underwear to his eight year-old brother.

"Tell me how the game went!" he said, his voice a few octaves higher than usual.

"It was great. I'm amazing. Really, I astound myself. Do you know I even caught the ball today? Mary says I'll be MVP in no time."

Kevin smiled. "I believe it." He looked down for a moment, his eyes sad. "I'll be at the next game, I promise."

Frankie smiled, giving his brother a reassuring side hug. "Ok. But don't worry about it. Mary says we'll make it to the semi-finals. You can come to those. Did you know that mastering trash talk is just as important as keeping your eye on the ball?"

Kevin laughed. "I had no idea."

"Me neither. But it totally is." Frankie nodded his head, "I'm great at it."

"Did Mary teach you that?"

"Yup."

He chuckled. "I'm going to have to meet this girl."

to be continued

* * *

Note: In case anyone's confused, Mary=Macy. Frankie just calls her Mary because of how they first met. In his mind, she is his Mary Poppins. But really, she's still the Macy we all know and love. If you think you know what pairing I'm pushing, you may be surprised. I'm not even sure myself yet, lol. Tell me what you think, ok?


	3. Nick

_This could quite possibly be the longest chapter of my life. I hope it doesn't scare anyone away. The tone has changed dramatically from the last chapter. But I hope it's appropriate since the perspective has also shifted_

_

* * *

  
_

**Part III**

"i suggest you have this piano repaired! when i sit down to an instrument, i want it in tune."

"but, george, you don't play."

"madam, that is entirely beside the point!"

--Mr. and Mrs. Banks

Nick was having a bad day. He could deal with chaos on tour—screaming fans, little to no sleep, mess everywhere—that was the nature of life on the road. And worth every second to be able to share his music with an audience. But, at home, sometimes he just wanted a little peace and quiet. A little normalcy, you know? Was that too much to ask?

Kevin woke him up at five that morning, making a ruckus in the attic. Five a.m.! On the last week of summer break! Apparently, he was trying to dig out all their old sports equipment for something. Why he chose the least opportune moment to do it was beyond Nick's comprehension. He loved his brother, but he stopped trying to understand him a long time ago.

And Joe. Don't get him started on Joe. He must have an extra dose of hormones or something because all that's ever on his mind lately is girls. Nick remembers being able to talk to his brother about anything—fans, music, the-stuff-of-life. He missed that.

Now it was always, "Wow, check out the redhead in the miniskirt." Or "Did you see those legs?" Maybe it was petty jealousy. Joe kept ditching him to hang with his flavor-of-the-week love-interest, who he promptly forgot about after the novelty wore off. Psh. And he wonders why the press labels him a heartbreaker. The sad part is that Nick's not sure who he feels sorrier for—the girls, or his brother.

Whatever. This whole angsty-train of thought was not helping his temperament. He better snap out of it if he didn't want to give a Joe a run for his money in the moody department.

Grabbing a cup of coffee, he approached the living room piano. Finally a moment of utter stillness. Soon he'd be wrapped up in a melody— giving it life, searching for the next note, the next tonal variation—and everything would be fine again.

Nick lifted the cover over the keyboard and paused, his blood freezing in his veins. Was that a _smudge_ on his piano? _A fingerprint_?

He looked closer. Brown and pink strings of gunk scattered haphazardly over the ivory keys. Over _his_ ivory keys! _This was not possible._ He rubbed his finger over the gooey substance and brought it to his nose. Peanut butter?

"FRANKIE!"

There was a chance his little brother would not survive to see age nine.

.

"oh, it's awfully dark and gloomy up there."

"there now, you see how wrong people can be? that there is what you might call a doorway to a place of enchantment."

--Jane Banks and Bert, the Chimney Sweep

After the morning's episode, Nick needed to escape. It wasn't fair to take out his frustration on his baby brother. He knew that now, after the damage was done. He'd yelled up a storm—at Frankie, at Joe, at Kevin.

He hated that he was capable of such… _anger_. Was perfection and control so important to him that he would jeopardize what mattered most to him—_his family_—for some pseudo semblance of peace that would shrivel up anyway?

For now he was perusing the poetry shelves at Barnes & Noble, pushing his thoughts away. There was nothing chaotic about a bookstore. No fluorescent lighting or loud noises. Just books. Even the people knew better than to try and strike up conversation with you. They were here for the same reason you were: to get lost in someone else's world. Or at least try to.

When he got home that night, they'd act like everything was okay. Kevin would wipe down the piano before he got there. Joe would stop by his room, complaining about how mom wouldn't let him buy a corvette—the new model stingray to be exact. They'd laugh about it until Kevin came up with marshmallows and popcorn. And then they'd just sit, together. He functioned best when with his brothers. They tempered each other.

But he felt that bond slipping away lately. And poor Frankie, caught in the cross-fire. Nick felt his guilt coming on in new waves. He turned a corner, into the kid's section—an area he usually avoided, lest he run into a mob of JONAS fans. When there she was, the last person he expected or wanted to see—sitting in a corner, digging through her purse.

She looked different—wearing black-rimmed reading glasses and a pale dress instead of the school uniform he was used to seeing her in. But it was her, JONAS' number one fan, Macy Misa.

Nick froze in place. He didn't know if he could deal with the inevitable train wreck that accompanied any moment he shared with the girl. Maybe he could back away slowly and she'd be none the wiser.

He took one careful step back when she finally found what she was looking for (a yellow paper-wrapped candy) and looked up.

_Great. Here comes the fan-fest. Stay calm. Don't be mean._

But surprisingly, she didn't get up. Despite that moment of utter recognition between them, she didn't run to meet him or jump around or even say hi. She just blinked, a little stunned, and looked away, letting her candy fall back into her purse.

Huh.

He was relieved. _Wasn't he?_

Suddenly he heard a sound he could recognize from a mile away—a pack of tween girls—approaching from behind. He sighed._ This was not his day._

"Have you read the last book? It's soooo good."

"I know I'm totally jealous. I wish I were her."

"Tell me about it."

"Hey, did you guys know this is the town where JONAS lives?"

"Of course, everybody knows that. They're so hawt!"

"OMG! What if we saw one of them while we're here?"

The squeeage that followed marked Nick's cue to leave. If caught, he'd be minced meat.

The girls had him cornered from behind, so there was nowhere to go but forward. He made a quick choice, deciding to take his chances with Macy and just hope she didn't call attention to him.

She'd gone back to reading a book, her purse still on her lap. She looked kind of cute, in a ridiculously child-like way, her tawny knees exposed from trying to fit into a pint-sized kid's chair. But at the same time those glasses made her look older. She could be quite the contradiction.

"Hi Macy," he said, almost in a whisper, his face carefully turned away from the pack of girls.

She jumped a little, surprised that he'd approached. She thought when he'd looked at her that they'd shared a silent understanding to leave each other alone. But at least he hadn't come over when she had that yellow tampon in her hand. That would have been _mortifying_. She cleared her throat and smiled, a little uncomfortably. "Hi Nick! Funny to run into you here."

"Yeah."

"How was the tour?"

"Good. Excellent, really. Our fans are the best."

Macy shot a glance behind him, taking in the sight of the girls and smiled—a small smirk that changed her always purely happy grin into something more mischievous. "We are, aren't we?"

"Uh--"

And then she laughed, breaking the awkward moment before he could uncover just what she was thinking.

He pulled up a brown spotted zebra chair, again positioning himself out of tween visual range, and tried (rather awkwardly) to sit down. "How about you? How's your summer been?"

She looked at him strangely, very surprised that he was sticking around. But that look faded quickly too, replaced by her usual ultrabright sweetness. "It's been busy, actually. The usual stuff—sports and ballet. And I also made a new friend, who got me a job oddly enough."

"You dance?"

"Oh. Not that well. I started because Coach said it would teach me grace and precision. But it hasn't quite rubbed off yet."

She'd said it with a chuckle, but he couldn't help but wonder if she didn't mean it seriously. She was being careful not to move, maybe afraid that she'd knock a bookshelf over on him or something. And he felt bad. _Why was it that you couldn't control things just by wanting to?_ "I see."

"What are you doing here?"

Not wanting to be truthful, he made something up. "Just looking for inspiration."

"It's eluding you?"

"Something like that."

"Well you came to the right place. Thousands of worlds just waiting to be set free. Waiting for their song."

He looked at her, as if for the first time. Who was this girl? _Did he even know?_

"What are you reading?" he asked her, scooting closer.

Her breath caught and he was strangely satisfied to know the JONAS charm hadn't entirely lost its effect on her. That would be a shame.

She cleared her throat and showed him the cover with its drawing of a little boy playing a flute, moonlight and pirate ship beckoning in the background. The title was etched in gold letters around the book's frame— _Peter Pan_ by J.M. Barrie.

He smiled without thinking. "Doing some heavy reading, I see."

"I like to stay educated," she said, going along with the tease.

"And how is it?"

"Excellent. It's not _your_ story, but it's a good one."

"_My_ story?"

"You know. That story each person has that isn't just about escape or adventure or going somewhere new. It's about _you_. It _is _you."

"Oh. Right."

"Anyway, this isn't that—not for you anyway. But it's still a powerful read. Take it," she said, handing it to him. "It might even awaken your muse."

"Alright," he said, thumbing through it.

She got up to leave. Honestly, it was lovely sitting with Nick Lucas all by herself. She could do it all day. But she'd had to go to the restroom for the last half hour and her midol was wearing off. She needed to leave before embarrassing herself.

When she said goodbye he asked her for a favor .

"Sure. Anything."

"Keep an eye out for my story, will you?"

"Alright."

And then she was gone and Nick was alone again. He sat there for a while, enjoying the silence. Thinking. The tweens had left a long time but he hadn't noticed. Finally, he decided it was time to leave.

He brought _Peter Pan_ to the cashier. Maybe Frankie would like it.

"Uh, is your name Nick?"

Nick paused, putting away his wallet. "Yes, why?"

"A girl left this for you. Said it was for the curly-haired boy who bought _Peter Pan_."

Nick took the brown-paper-wrapped package with his name on it from the man's outstretched hand.

"Thanks."

.

"i know the very person you mean. mary poppins. she's the one that sings:

a spoonful of sugar, that is all it takes. it changes bread and water into tea and cakes"

--Bert

The first thing he did when he got home was to march right into Frankie's room. Nick felt himself getting teary-eyed when he tried to explain himself, to apologize. He needed to explain that nothing that had happened was Frankie's fault.

But Frankie saved him the agony of stumbling for words that wouldn't come. He came up to him, already dressed in his batman pajamas, and gave him a hug. "It's okay," he said, squeezing tightly. "I get mad sometimes too."

Nick choked up, just a little. "I'm so sorry, little bro. It's not going to happen again, ok? I love you."

Frankie pulled away. "Love you too."

Nick took _Peter Pan_ out its green plastic bag. "I got something for you."

Frankie's elated face toned down a bit when he realized it was a book and not some form of candy. "Oh, wow," he said. "A book."

Nick chuckled, kissing his brother on the forehead. "I hope you like it. I have it on good authority that it's an excellent read."

Frankie pulled away. Hugs were one thing. Kisses were another. Ew.

Nick was turning to leave when Frankie asked him something.

"Want to read it to me? Maybe tomorrow?"

He smiled. "I'd love to."

He closed the door behind him.

.

"would you﻿ be good enough to explain all of this?!"  
"first of all, I would like to make one thing very clear:  
I never explain anything"

--Mr. Banks and Mary Poppins

Nick couldn't sleep. For once the house was utterly silent, but it didn't matter. Three a.m. and he was wide awake.

He kept thinking about that package. He hadn't opened it, don't ask him why. It was just a book, right? It shouldn't matter either way. But curiosity picked at him like a vulture stabbing its beak into fresh meat.

With sudden decisiveness he flicked on the light and pulled out the brown-paper package. Inside was a note scribbled on the back of a receipt.

_I forgot to mention something. Sometimes you can have more than one story. Just because you find one that's you, doesn't mean there isn't another one waiting for you to discover it._

_Happy reading,_

_Macy_

He swallowed, pulling back the rest of the paper. The book was thin, with huge illustrations and very little writing. The cover looked familiar, picturing a colored-pencil jungle with a horned monster sleeping in the corner.

"Where the Wild Things Are," he said, reading the title aloud. "Story and pictures by Maurice Sendak."

Nick chuckled, running a hand through his hair. A kids book. Huh.

He went downstairs to get a glass of milk. On his way up he noticed the light on in Frankie's room. That was strange.

The door was slightly open, so Nick approached slowly, about to enter, and stopped himself. He leaned forward to hear inside the room.

"Frankie, it's three thirty in the morning. Can't this wait?"

Nick peeked through the door carefully. No one was in the room. Wait, was that Frankie's computer on? Ah, the web cam.

"Mary, please. I can't sleep."

"Your family is home now. I'm not taking you on a midnight trip to the park."

Nick couldn't make out the figure on the screen, as it was pointed away from him.

Frankie laughed softly. "No running through the sprinklers?"

"I told you, I didn't plan that!"

"Sure you didn't."

"That's it. I'm going to bed. And so should you."

"Pretty please? A quick story? One with pictures."

The girl sighed. "Fine. But get in bed. And close your eyes or no deal. You can see the pictures later."

Frankie complied and Nick stood outside the door, holding his breath. It couldn't be—

But it was.

"Where the Wild Things Are."

_How could--? Was it just a crazy coincidence?_

The girl didn't pause for his questions. She just read, her voice soft and melodic--taking on the life of the story. Of his story, apparently.

"The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another, his mother called him "WILD THING!" and Max said "I'LL EAT YOU UP!" so he was sent to bed without eating anything..."

Frankie interrupted, one eye open suddenly. "Is this a story about me?"

"Definitely not."

"Good because I don't like the idea of going to bed on an empty stomach."

"Are you going to let me finish?"

"Don't I always?"

"Ha! Very funny."

She cleared her throat and went on, and Nick sat on the hallway floor—his ear pressed close so as to hear every word.

_._

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Having spent all day on this, I only now realize how odd it is. Huh. Thoughts?  
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	4. Joe

_You are all amazing. I'm so overwhelmed by the response to this little story. Especially the last chapter, which I was so nervous about. Thank you for easing my fears. This new bit was even more stressful to produce. I really hope you like it. It's different: __angstier, for better or worse, __and monstrously long—I'll warn you of that now. But hopefully still true to the story.  
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maybe-joleisaa_ inspired Macy's choice of sports from this chapter. And Davis is borrowed from _ xo. vicki .xo_'s story, "In Training." (I hope that's ok, Vicki? If not I'll change it, promise.)  
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**Part IV**_  
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"let me look at you. well, you're not as well turned out as I'd like.

still, there's time. there's time."

--Mary Poppins

From the way Nick yelled at him yesterday, you'd think the only thing Joe cared about was girls. Ridiculous! Lots of things mattered to Joe—style, coordination, puff cheetos. The band.

Sure he _liked_ girls. What was wrong with that?

Honestly, he _loved_ it when girls played hard to get. He found the chase—_the hunt for something worth working for_—fun, exhilarating even. The problem was the actual prize usually failed to keep his interest. Never what he was hoping for, you know? Like running this amazing marathon, only to find you've won a plastic figure of a shoe lace instead of a trip to the world series. Disappointing, I guess is the word.

Whatever. That's not the point.

The _point_ is that Nick called him an "emotional train wreck who looks for solace in vapid, shallow girls and then wonders why all his relationships feel empty."

It's a mouthful, right? Well, that's Nick for ya. Never one to mince words.

Joe can't exactly hold it against him. Nick's the one member of the family everyone knows not to alienate. He's the breadwinner after all. Without Nick's songs and musical genius, Joe would be stuck in a Jersey public school, flipping burgers at the Caddy Shack for chump change. _Shudder._

So yeah he'd forgiven his brother for what he'd said. Really. But something about the words still stung—leaving a kind of residual _tingle_. Like how what you say, even in a rage, still has this grain of truth.

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"just this once, please?"

--Jane

"It's a bazillion degrees outside--why doesn't anyone want to take me for ice cream?!" Frankie sat with his arms crossed in front of him, baseball cap shifted to the side. He could pout like nobody's business.

"I thought mom was going to take you." Toting his baby brother around town on the last day of summer break wasn't exactly on Joe's top list of priorities.

"She got an order for a design."

"Dad?"

"Out."

"Nick and Kevin?"

"Music. And something with hedgehogs and paint supplies."

Joe grumbled. _He didn't want to know_.

And if he was being honest, both Nick and Kevin had picked up the pace on their brotherly duties lately. He'd seen Kevin throwing a ball around with Frankie just that morning and he was pretty sure he'd heard Nick reading to him last night. Either that or he was explaining the history of pirates. Either way, it left Joe the odd one out. And meant he'd have to take his turn today. _Argh_. Of all the days.

"Alright, let's go," he said, sighing.

"Sweet!"

But if Joe was going to do a good deed, there was no reason not to have a little fun while at it, right? He sent a text to Veronica, an artist-type girl he'd been meaning to call. She was the epitome of classy and chic: beautiful—with her shoulder length dark hair and bright red lips—and confident. Not aloof, exactly; but she knew how cool she was. He'd like to see Nick call _her_ anything but amazing.

.

"and just how much money do you have, young man?"

--Scary bank teller

The bells on the door rattled at _The_ _Candy & Ice Cream Emporium, _but the sound was the last thing you noticed in the florescent pink and green striped store. Shelves and shelves of every candy imaginable—licorice, tootsie rolls, large and small jawbreakers, gummy worms. And at the back of the shop was the ice cream parlor—43 of the wackiest flavors known to man. Basically, kid-heaven.

Veronica and a friend were seated and waiting, their black mini-skirts and tailored shirt blouses a contrast against the store's more neon peppermint coloring.

Joe approached their table with his usual swagger. "Well, hello beautifuls."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Nice to see you too, Lucas. It's about time you called. I was starting to think you weren't man enough."

Frankie was getting antsy beside him. "Joe—aren't we gonna get ice cream now?"

"Yeah, we are. Just give me a second while I say hi to these lovely ladies." Joe lifted his brows suggestively.

Frankie crossed his arms sullenly. 'Hi' was going to take a while; he could tell. Especially when his brother pulled up a seat from the next table over and sat down.

"I'm gonna check out the candy."

"Go for it, kiddo." Joe pulled out a twenty, feeling extra generous—no doubt remembering that girls liked guys who weren't tight with their money—and handed it to Frankie.

Frankie's eyes went wide. "Can I get—"

"Sure, sure, get whatever you want."

Frankie took his brother's money before he could change his mind and reached for the first candy-grab-bag he could find, ready and willing to fill it with every sugar-coated goodie that would fit inside.

Joe turned back to the girls, leaning forward over their table. "So, tell me V. Whatcha been up to?"

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"sometimes a person we love, through no fault of his own, can't see past the end of his nose."

--Mary Poppins

Veronica smirked at his tone, still the picture of sophistication. "Katy and I finished a mural for UUAC."

"UUAC?"

Katy scoffed. Apparently it shouldn't need an explanation. "Underground Urban Art Culture. They're revolutionizing art as we know it."

Joe would have asked why art needed to be 'revolutionized' to begin with but his attention diverted to the rattling door, where girl after girl in sweaty fuchsia and yellow uniforms filtered in.

Katy snickered. "Oh look, it's the badminton team. Just what every school needs."

"I think they're tennis players."

"Whatever. Same thing."

Joe's gaze zeroed in on a girl with dark hair, pulled back in a braid and his nose twitched. Macy saw him too and waved happily.

He waved back, a little more casually.

"You know her?" Katy asked, almost disapprovingly.

"Yeah. Sort of."

Veronica narrowed her eyes and smiled. "Oh that's right. Isn't that the girl who faints every time she sees you? Stacy or something. Always throwing herself at you."

Katy laughed. "A JONAS groupie? Why am I not surprised."

"No, it's not like that," he said, not wanting them to get the wrong idea. "I mean she's a fan. A huge fan that gets excited easily but she's not a—"

By this time Frankie had filled up his bag to its maximum candy capacity, dropping handfuls into his mouth as he was walked away.

Veronica's voice was soft and soothing. Joe loved the sound of it—almost smoke-like—rolling off her tongue. "You don't have to get defensive, Joe," she said. "It's not your fault. Though you probably encourage that kind of behavior in girls."

Frankie was still stuffing candy in his mouth, on his way back to his brother's table when he noticed the team of tennis players sitting by the window. "Mary!" he said, breaking into a gallop.

He tripped a little on the back of a woman's purse and felt something hard catch in his throat. He stopped in place –rigid-- and clutched his hands to his neck.

Joe was still trying to memorize the sound of Veronica's voice when Katy sat up a little straighter.

"Joe—"

"Hmph?" Katy kind of annoyed him, but he'd put up with her if it meant keeping V around.

"Isn't that your brother?"

Joe turned around in his seat, looking for Frankie.

"I think he's choking."

All the blood drained from Joe's face. He could barely register the words. _Choking?_ He was just there two seconds ago.

Joe got up in a rushed daze, registering the scene in chaotic slow motion: Frankie's rosy cheeks discoloring into a pale blue. Small hands tightening around his throat. Horrible hacking noises coming from his mouth. _Oh the sound!_

Joe was at his brother's side—feeling more helpless than he'd felt in his entire life. _He didn't know what to do!_ He grabbed Frankie's shoulder—looking straight into his wet panicking eyes.

Joe felt acid burning in his chest, the bile hovering in his throat. _What if--?_

He couldn't even imagine it. He'd never forgive himself. _What was he supposed to do?!_

Joe didn't know if it was the stress of the moment but the whole thing seemed like a scene from a movie. Or a nightmare. One where you aren't the hero or even a good guy, just the useless twerp who does nothing while the whole world crumbles in front of you.

Suddenly he felt someone shoving him out of the way. The motion knocked over a row of chairs and people started standing in a clamor.

Macy's braid thudded against Joe's face and she took Frankie out of his grip.

She looked him straight in the face and sternly ordered him to "Calm down! I mean it Frankie. Now."

And he did, closing his eyes in pain.

She moved nimbly, gripping his chest while standing behind him. Making a fist with one hand and placing it on his stomach, she brought back her other hand for a powerful squeeze-thrust.

Frankie gasped.

And Macy did it again. And again. Until soon he was hacking out whatever was caught in his throat.

She held out her hand and he spit into it.

She shook her head disapprovingly. "Jawbreakers, Frankie? Really? You know better."

He hugged her, not looking the least bit sorry.

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"is anything the matter?"

"i'm afraid there is."

--Mrs. And Mr. Banks

Joe Lucas had never been so crippled by emotion in his entire life. It was the residual effects of fear in its purest form. In two seconds his baby brother could have—_could have_ _died_. All because he was so wrapped up in his own little world that he didn't notice what was right in front of him. He didn't notice the important things.

It sickened him to think of what could have happened.

Right now he could be standing in front of his mother, having to say that her youngest son had stopped breathing--and would never breathe again. Would anything be worth living for after that? _Would anything matter?_

His family would _never_ recover. And neither would he.

"Joe, why are you so quiet? It's weird."

Joe looked at Frankie, turning the car onto their street. "Sorry. I'm just thinking."

"Are you mad about the jawbreakers? I shouldn't have got them. I know I'm not supposed to."

"No," Joe shook his head. "I'm not mad."

There was an awkward silence as Joe continued to drive. The radio was off. It started to rain. He flipped on the wipers, watching the back and forth motion mindlessly.

"What happened to your friends? The girls."

"Huh? Oh I think they went home. I'm not sure."

Frankie was worried about his brother. He'd never seen him so out of it. For almost an hour, he just sat in a chair in the candy shop-- in a kind of unresponsive daze. Finally, Frankie told him they should go home. It was getting late. Joe had nodded his head, picked up his jacket and headed towards the door. Frankie wished Mary hadn't had to leave. She would've known what to do.

Joe looked at him intently for the hundredth time that night. "You're sure you're okay?"

Frankie rolled his eyes. "Yes! I'm okay already."

"If I'd lost you, I—I don't know what I'd do."

"Why would you lose me? I'm right here." Frankie wondered sometimes how he got stuck with the strangest brothers in the world.

Joe nodded his head, still frowning, and reached one hand out to ruffle Frankie's hair. "Okay, little bro. But just so you know—things are gonna change. I'm going to try and start seeing things for what they are."

Frankie had no idea what his brother was talking about. And he thought it best not to ask.

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"never judge things by their appearance. even carpetbags."

--Mary Poppins

Joe Lucas was in no way a scientist. But he recognized that sometimes the only way to learn is to conduct an experiment.

It was Stella who gave him the idea, believe it or not. He'd told her he needed a wakeup call. He wanted to start seeing things clearly.

"What kind of things?"

"Everything—people. Life."

"Are you feeling alright? This doesn't sound like you."

"I know it doesn't. That's the problem. Nick says I've lost touch with what matters—and he's right. I care about the wrong kind of people. The wrong kinds of things. I never see what's right in front of me."

"That's a hard one. Especially since as long as you're Joe Lucas, member of mega-popular JONAS, people aren't going to show you who they really are. Not at first anyway."

And that was why he was attending the first day of his junior year at Horace Mantis as Stewart McColough, nerd extraordinaire.

Joe had left the house at five that morning to enlist the help of a makeup artist, one who he'd met on the tour. With some carefully placed facial prosthetics, a blonde hairpiece and a pair of bottleneck glasses—he looked nothing like himself.

He rode the school bus (something a Lucas hasn't done in three years) cheerfully, despite having to dodge a few spitballs. If this wasn't a masterful plan, he didn't know what was.

But things took a sour turn when he exited the bus and someone—a very large football player with Davis plastered across his jersey—tripped him. On purpose.

"such behaviour! well, it's the most disgraceful sight i've ever seen,

or my name isn't mary poppins."

Joe was shocked more than anything else. _What was that about?_ He went to reach for his glasses but Davis stopped him, snatching them up before he could.

Davis laughed derisively. "Look at what we have here, everybody. Fresh meat."

Joe was very confused. When you've never encountered a bully on your own—it's not something you're prepared for. And Joe had never been bullied in his life. Partly, because he was cool; but mostly because he always had his brothers to back him up. No matter what.

He got up slowly from the concrete, shocked that people found this funny.

Davis held the glasses just out of his reach. Technically, he didn't need them to see. Obviously. But it was the point of the matter. Those were his ugly glasses and this jerk had no business with them.

"Did I say you could get up, newbie?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, I see. A jokester. Haven't had one of those in a while." Davis smiled and with one quick punch to the face—knocked Joe flat on the ground again.

_Ow. _Joe rubbed his tailbone. That was gonna smart. He could taste the blood mixing makeup on the corner of his mouth.

By now a small crowd had formed, some people eager to watch the spectacle—others less so. Joe watched Veronica and Katy walk by without so much as a second glance. He could almost hear their sarcastic commentary from his position on the cold ground.

Joe was _done _with this experiment. _Done with all of it!_ Five minutes and he'd learned all he needed to—people are dirt bags. They don't care about you unless you have something they want. And you know what? He'd had enough. He was going to beat the crap out of this Davis guy if it was the last thing he did. Sure, he'd never thrown a punch in his life. But right now he was so angry he could take on a truck.

Joe tightened his fist, getting ready to tackle meat-brain in one swoop. But someone interrupted them.

"What do you think you're doing?"

_Oh no._

Davis turned around but even before he did Joe could make out Macy Misa's profile--standing with one hand on her hip, the other gripping a hockey stick.

"Just havin' a little fun."

Macy's gaze hardened and Joe felt his heart stop. _What was she doing?_ He could deal with being beaten up, content with trying his best to pulverize the guy, but he couldn't stand watching her get pulled into this too. He took a breath.

Macy didn't miss a beat. "This is not my idea of fun." She walked forward, smacking her hockey stick into her palm, and the crowd moved out of her way, encircling her.

Davis chuckled uncomfortably, not knowing what to make of it. He could take her on—obviously. She'd be a pancake under his weight. But picking on a girl in front of half the school was a lot different than messing around with a newbie nobody cared about. He was willing to laugh it off.

But it turns out Macy had no intention of backing down. She ripped into Davis like he was wood on a chopping block, her cheeks flushing red in righteous indignation. "If I see you so much as lay one hand on anybody who can't give it right back to you, you'll wish you'd never set foot at this school. In fact, I'll risk sounding cliché to tell you the truth: you'll wish you were never born--"

Joe's mouth hung open, if only because he'd never expected sweet and innocent Macy to describe her intentions of boiling a football player in a vat of hot oil and feeding his remains to a pack of Chihuahuas. And that was the less colorful of her expressions.

Davis, not quick enough for trash talk, had enough. He shoved her away—and Joe moved to pummel him into the ground, but Macy beat him to it. With one sweeping swing of her hockey stick—straight to Davis' knees—she had him writhing in pain. If Davis had plans of getting up, he changed them at the sight of eighteen members of the girl's hockey team—now standing behind Macy like Amazon warriors, their long hair blowing in the wind.

Joe couldn't think of anything more beautiful.

"when mary holds your hand, you feel so grand;

your heart starts beatin' like a big brass band"

--Bert

Joe locked the door behind him as he entered. He was lucky his parents were away. He'd had a hard enough time explaining his 'absence' at school to his brothers and Stella.

It had taken hours to scrub off his alter ego. Sure enough, with the last layer of makeup removed from his face—he had marked blue bruising on his left cheek. But now, with Kevin and Nick doing a Burger King promotion he'd have the house to himself. A few moments of much needed peace.

The house was dark, except for a light in the TV room. He approached it.

Sprawled out on one end of the couch was Frankie—curled into a sleeping ball, his thumb in his mouth. On the other side, to Joe's surprise, was Macy. She was sleeping too—her head draped over one arm. Gravity pulled down the sleeve on her purple nightshirt, exposing her bare shoulder. And the blue light from the dvd screensaver cast jumping shadows on her skin.

Joe sat on the coffee table, staring in awe. He couldn't decide if he should cover her with a blanket and let her sleep. Or give into the temptation to trace his fingers along those dancing shadows etched into her skin. Maybe he could do both?

He swallowed.

And she stirred—disoriented. The Lucas' weren't supposed to be home until morning. "What's going on?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"Just admiring the view."

She looked around the room for what he might mean. And then stopped, understanding dawning on her. She blushed despite herself. "I guess I fell asleep. Not the best babysitter am I?"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure you are. The best, I mean."

Joe was ashamed that it took Macy sleeping on his couch to realize who she was. Macy. Mary. It wasn't that much of a stretch. Ha! Who was he kidding? It was crazy; but in Frankie's mind it probably sense. And if Joe hadn't been so blind to everything for so long he might've picked up on it sooner. But he got it now--the last piece of the puzzle that was the amazing Macy Misa. Sweetheart. Fan. Amazon warrior. EMT. Defender of the weak. Purple lacy underwear. He smirked at that thought. He couldn't help it.

Macy shifted positions, nervously covering her shoulder up with her sleeve. Joe frowned.

And then she gasped, noticing for the first time.

"Joe, are you ok? Your cheek is all bruised." She reached over, brushing her fingers along the corner of his mouth. And the look on her face—not flirtatious or playful—but genuine horror. Like seeing him hurt was the worst thing she could imagine. Joe thought he could've kissed her in that moment and died happy and fulfilled.

But Frankie stirred. And Macy looked over.

"I should put him to bed."

"It's alright, Mace. I'll carry him up."

Joe scooped his brother into his arms. Frankie woke up, bleary eyed. He ignored his brother to address Macy. "I forgot to tell you, Mary. I need you to fix Joe. He's broken—" But a long yawn stopped him from saying anymore. And soon he was back to sleeping in his brother's arms.

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_Note: I think the next chapter will be the last; __the cat's out of the bag__ and I've run out of Mary Poppins quotes. But I think I can squeeze out one last hurrah for a Macy chapter. It's only fair, right? _

_Please send me any and all of your thoughts. I thrive on them like you wouldn't believe. _


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